Why is it you awake expecting day
To break, the television purring dull, fractured
Voices in the next room, like a humming
Bulb dying in its own breath, and you wait
To rise and remove it from the socket,
As it dodges death in the elegiac warmth
Of uncalculated flicker, and you realize
Just how easily we allow the simple act of
Iteration - a coiling filament drawn to tensility,
Wound and charged to incandescence
With no will to abate its brilliant descent
Toward the frost of shadow, where even ductility is
Useless, but still, when you roll it in your hands,
It burns, and you can't help but think
If you squeeze it hard enough it will light again.
















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Kototama |
All is full of love.
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